


True Beauty

by Dreaming_of_Fairys



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - High School, Anorexia, Anxiety, Bullying, Depression, Developing Relationship, Eating Disorders, Fist Fights, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Illness Awareness, Oblivious parents, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suspension, school is shit, sting x rogue, stingue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6200701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreaming_of_Fairys/pseuds/Dreaming_of_Fairys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue leaves his phone unlocked on Sting's desk one day when over at his house, so Sting decides to prank him with a few funny photos and videos. Instead, he stumbles across a video that is both eye opening and heartbreaking all in one. Now that Rogue's secret is out, Sting finds himself plunged head over heels into Rogue's world, finally starting to see how far into his own head Rogue has become...and it's not pretty. [Stingue. Lots of triggers, so be warned.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let Me In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I edited this chapter a teeny tiny bit to make it fit with *drumroll* the new chapter coming out! I'm going to make this into a multichapter story.
> 
> What I Changed: I took out a lot of the drama in this to make it a little more realistic and a lot less overwhelming. It's still very dark and depressing, but I made Rogue's situation a bit more probable and Sting's reaction more natural. I also changed the god awful formatting.
> 
> Basically, this story is going to become one about depression and mental illness and realism of it all. This first chapter is not as realistic as I'd like it to be, but I don't have the energy to completely rewrite it. So, the good, realistic stuff will come in chapter two onward. I'll explain more about my intent with this story in chapter two, since it doesn't apply as well to this chapter.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy :)

High school is supposed to be the best time of your life, according to many adults. But honestly? Sting wasn't feeling it, and neither was his best friend since second grade, Rogue Cheney.  It had been an extremely long day, full of projects, difficult labs, and boring worksheets. The two of them never got a break from all the stress. From the workload they both got, it seemed schools really didn't care about the health of their students.

Rogue is drained as all hell. His eyes empty and exhausted, and he looked pale and peckish, ready to collapse at any moment. In order to prevent any catastrophe, Sting had taken him back to his house for study time and relaxation, where Sting's parents greeted them kindly.

Sting is kicked back in his beanbag when Rogue suddenly gets up from the desk. His phone had just flashed with a text message, and Sting watches as Rogue's eyes widened. "S-Sorry, I need to go to the bathroom." He rushes out of the room without another word, closing the door behind him.

Sting shrugs, wondering what got Rogue so worked up. He rises from the beanbag, a small smirk playing on his lips. If his suspicions were correct...

He picks up Rogue's cell phone, and sure enough, it's unlocked. Sting cheers silently, because this is a perfect opportunity for some goofing off. He takes a few selfies, all of them sassier and sillier than the one before. He clicks into Rogue's camera roll, snickering mischievously. He pauses at the sight of a video being the newest thing on Rogue's camera roll, so he taps it.

The video is pulled up, revealing Rogue's face blurred by darkness. Sting feels his good mood slowly dissipate. What was this video? It certainly couldn't be good. He clicks play with bated breath, and Rogue begins speaking.

 _"I don't know what to do anymore."_ His voice sounds so cracked and empty, quiet in the nighttime setting of the video. Sting turns the volume up. _"It's 3am on a Tuesday night, well, technically it's Wednesday morning, and I haven't slept a wink."_

Sympathy for his best friend washes over Sting as he sorrowfully looks down at Rogue's face on the screen.

_"I'm completely empty, totally numb...I don't feel a thing. I'm just so worthless...nobody cares about me..."_

"I care," Sting whispers softly, as if he is there with Rogue in the darkness, right beside him caressing his anxieties with soothing words.

Rogue pauses before speaking again.   _"Well...there's one person who seems to care...but they don't. It's out of sympathy, I feel like. After all...all of my friends left and betrayed me, the teachers only care about physical sickness not emotional sickness, and the one person I love more than anything idolizes someone else, loves him more than they'll ever love me."_

Sting's heart breaks in his chest. "I had no idea..." he whispers. "Who are they, Rogue...? Who is this person breaking your heart...?"

Rogue laughs shakily _. "As if they'd love trash like me anyways. I'm just a shadow on the wall, nothing more."_

"You're my best friend, is that not something?" Sting is holding back a single tear pooling in his eye. Seeing Rogue broken like this...it was more painful than anything he'd ever experienced.

 _"There are so many things holding me back,"_ Rogue whispers breathily. _"But if I could just...fade away from this world...it would be a blessing... Just die in my sleep..."_

"No..." Sting's voice is shaking now. "Don't you dare think like that-!"

Rogue is crying now, a silent year glittering in the dim lighting. _"If only I could run away, run far far away where no one knew me, where no one judges me by the things that I've done..."_ Another tear falls, streaking silver down his pale cheek _. "I want to go to a place where the people at school don't push me around and beat me down...a place where I don't have to be perfect for my parents and worry about coming home to yelling and screaming at each other and at me...a place where...where..."_ Rogue's voice cracks dangerously as he speaks just a little louder. _"A place where loving boys rather than girls isn't a crime..."_

"You too, huh...?" Sting breathes, a small shaky smile on his face. "You could've told me, you know..."

But then he falls silent as Rogue looks ready to scream. He doesn't, but the look in his tormented red eyes says it all. _"A place where the scars on my wrist don't determine who I am!"_

Sting drops the cellphone to the floor, then falls to the carpet beside it. He tries to speak, but no words escape his mouth, stunned beyond belief. He couldn't believe what he was hearing...this had to be fake. This wasn't real, right? This must be for a project or something...there's no way Rogue wants to...

_"-where starving myself doesn't make me a freak-"_

Sting lets out a small strangled sound, unable to reach the phone without moving from his fetal position, that position of trying to ward away the awful, terrible truth. Attempting to block everything out, Sting chokes back what feels like a tearless sob.

_"But I'm stuck here...stuck in an oblivious household, in a town where nobody cares, in a life I don't want..."_

"H-How long have you been like this?" Sting whispers, breathing starting to quicken. "H-How have I not noticed...? I-I must be such a shitty friend i-if I didn't see this... R-Rogue, please tell me th-this isn't true...please..."

_"So many times that the blood is already flowing, I wonder what would happen if I drove the knife through my chest..."_

"St-Stop...p-please..." Sting whispers, his heart pounding in his hears. Rogue's blunt, harsh words were too much... Sting couldn't stop himself from panicking now, the tears starting to fall in stunned silence which soon escalated to soft, broken sobs.

_"I think about how no one would even care if I died... Not a single person..."_

"What about me?!" Sting wails, tears covering his entire face. "Me, Rogue, ME! I care, oh god do I care, I don't want you to die, oh god please st-stay in this world, d-don't leave me-!"

Rogue sniffles, body trembling. _"Okay...that might be a lie...there's one person...who would care...but my mind tells me he doesn't..."_ Rogue clenches his eyes shut tightly, lip trembling dangerously. _"I wonder...! How much would you loathe me if you found out about this?! If you discovered how big of a freak I am and discovered all of these things I've kept from you!"_

"I would h-hold you in m-my arms..." Sting chokes out, hand reaching desperately towards the phone. "I would h-hold you tightly and n-never let go until you realized that you are c-cared for and w-worth it..."

Rogue is fully sobbing now, voice raising into a desperate quiet shout. _"You would hate me! You would hate me so much if you found out that I slit my wrists in an attempt to feel much of anything and that there's scars on both arms from my wrists all the way up my arm to the bend of my elbow, that I starve myself in the hopes that I'll just fade away into nothing, that the bullies pull me behind the school and call me a faggot and beat me for being the worthless trashy gay emo piece of shit that I am-! B-But most of all-!"_

Rogue is in hysterics as he wails out, _"You'd hate me for loving you! For loving you for years even though you will never ever feel the same but I still cannot let go of you, because you're the only one who can save me I just want you to hold me and tell me that you love me and you care and that you'll get me out of this fucking hell I'm barely surviving!"_

Sting is speechless, unsure of who this is even addressed to, if not him, but the words are slowly tearing his heart up into tiny fragile paper pieces.

Rogue lets out a deep sob, tears coating his cheeks as he looks directly into the camera. _"I love you...Sting."_

Sting coughs loudly, eyes widening in disbelief. "N-No way..." he whispers.

_"After all this time...I love you more than I could express..."_

"O-Oh god, Rogue..." Sting chokes on a sob, heart wrenching in his chest. "W-Why didn't you tell me...? Wh-Why didn't you s-say something...?"

_"So much so that it kills me more every single day...the pain of knowing you care only for others, not me..."_

"Do I not tell you I care enough?" Sting whispers shakily, shivering violently. "D-Do I ever tell you I care? Wh-What if I don't-?! Sh-Shit, I've meant t-to-!"

Rogue cries for a good minute, letting them fall without restraint. Sting crawls over the cellphone and cradles it close to him, as if it were really Rogue, waiting for the crying to cease. And eventually, it does, with only a small amount of time remaining.

_"If I die...I hope someone finds this. Just so I can say fuck you. Fuck you for everything you've put me through! If you feel sorry or guilty now, it's too fucking late. If you find this, this is my suicide note to you. I hate you all so fucking much for destroying my life."_

Sting lets out a desperate whimper, trying hard to remember that Rogue is right next door in the bathroom and not in a coffin. "R-Rogue...Rogue please st-stay with me..."

A surprisingly soft smile comes over Rogue's face. _"Everyone...but you. Sting Eucliffe...you are a beautiful soul."_

Sting can't help himself but to start sobbing all over again, collapsing into his back as the screen blurs before his eyes.

_"Thank you for everything...please don't cry...you had no idea this was going on, and it's not your fault, not in the slightest. It was mine for being too afraid to tell you. Go live your life without me...keep that beautiful, radiant smile on your face that could light up my darkest days. Go on and go places, achieve your dreams, live for not just yourself, but for me. Do what I never could have done... Make me proud, my love...make me proud."_

And with that, the video ended. Sting drops the phone to his chest, a tearstained, sobbing mess on the carpeted floor. "You're still here..." he whispers. "So guess what, Rogue...? I'm going to save you."

Just then, the door opens to reveal a very exhausted looking Rogue. He had been crying, Sting could tell. From what the video said, that text was probably from his parents, asking why he had poor grades or something.

Rogue takes one look at the situation and Sting watches as recognition followed by fear cross his face. Without a second thought, Rogue turns around and bolts out the door.

"ROGUE, WAIT!" Sting screeches, bursting through the door after him. He takes the stairs two at a time, hearing his parents asking Rogue why he is leaving in such a hurry. Sting's shoes are still by the door, next to Rogue's, so Sting simply rushes out the front door in his socks.

There is a huge storm outside, the raining pouring down in buckets. Rogue is out here somewhere in only his worn gray sweatshirt, a pair of scuffed up jeans, and bare feet. Fear runs through Sting's veins as he takes off in the only direction that makes sense.

When he reaches the abandoned park that they've had as their private spot since they were young, naive fifth graders, he spots Rogue sitting where he expected: on the rusty old swing set.

Sting slowly makes his way across the playground, past rusted slides, broken monkey bars, and ladders covered with cobwebs that are ripping apart as the water droplets tear through the shimmering white.

He sits down beside Rogue, listening to the telltale creaking sound of the rusted chains moving to accommodate the young boy's weight. Rogue says nothing, refuses to even look at him, instead looking at his bare feet pink with cold, a contrast against the muted grayscale of the world around them.

Sting is the first to voice his feelings, though it cracks and barely is audible. "I love you too."

Rogue doesn't react. The only movement is the wind slightly pushing his swing foreword, the creaking of rusty metal against the clasp speaking when Rogue would not.

Sting goes on, trying to prevent the silence. "I would say sorry...but I don't think that's what you want to hear...is it?"

"No..." Rogue's voice is weak. He slowly turns his head to look at Sting, water dripping from his bangs. "No." He repeats himself, being his own echo in the fear that he wasn't firm enough the time before.

Sting reaches out a hand, eyes filled with a desire to help and protect and understand. A single tear mingles with the rainwater on Rogue's cheeks as he hesitantly takes it. Sting caresses a finger over his knuckles, trying to soothe the other's inner turmoil darker than the storm blanketing them. He looks up into Rogue's eyes, barely a whisper escaping his lips, "May I?"

It was a meaningless question, but to Rogue, the intent is all too clear. Rogue flinches back, pulling his arm away and shaking his head, eyes wide with fear.

Sting looks at him with pleading eyes. "L-Let me help you...I promise I won't judge..."

Rogue swallows hard, everything inside him screaming negativity. His terrified eyes seem to speak entire paragraphs, and Sting was expecting another rejection. But instead, to Sting's surprise, he replies with a weak, "Yes."

Sting's gentle fingers slowly pull up Rogue's sleeve, brushing over the scarred skin with affection. His eyes are filled to brim, ready to overflow with tears as he traces each marking of Rogue's struggles with the hands of an angel. He slowly leans down and kisses each one, not caring about the fact that they cover nearly every inch of Rogue's pale skin. Rogue starts slightly, not expecting the soft caress of Sting's lips in the slightest. He repeats the action with Rogue's other arm, minding with gentle care that he is just as slow and soothing as the time before.

Rogue is trying not to break down and sob as Sting lifts his head up to look Rogue in the eyes. He takes Rogue's trembling hands in his, rainwater falling in front of his eyes and whispers. "You're beautiful, Rogue. Scars and all."

"N-No, I'm not..." Rogue whispers, looking away from him. "I-I'm fucking disgusting...a total m-mess of greasy hair and sc-scarred skin..."

"Shhhh," Sting whispers, tears falling from his eyes. "That doesn't take away the beauty of you, Rogue. You are such a strong person, you know that? The strongest I know. I have an easy life: I'm openly gay, I have parents who love me dearly, and I get excellent grades and have lots of friends. If even one of the things that was happening to you happened to me, I would not take it like you do."

Sting traces a thumb over Rogue's left arm. "Do you know what these are, Rogue?"

"My weakness," Rogue whispers, silently crying as the salt blends with the purity of the rain.

Sting shakes his head. "No, Rogue... These are your battle scars. Each one of these is a fight you lost...but you haven't lost the war. You get back up, and you keep fighting. You get out of bed and you face the demons in the form of your own head, your parents, and everyone else in the this world who blocks you from your dreams. You're not weak, Rogue. You're a warrior and you're a fighter. The strongest, bravest, most beautiful one I've ever known."  
  
Rogue can't help himself. He lets out a loud sob, falling forwards off of the swing. Sting is there in a heartbeat, catching him before he hits the ground and holding him close, feeling Rogue clench his hands into fists around Sting's sweater. "I l-love you s-so much, Sting-!" Rogue cries, shaking from his own sobs as he melts into Sting's arms.  
  
Sting kisses the top of Rogue's head, holding the fragile boy close with a sad smile. "I love you more..."  
  
He holds him until the storm dies down and the sun comes up behind the clouds, casting golden light on droplets of silver. The world glows with a whole new beauty around them as Rogue looks up at the pure blue sky with brand new eyes, a small gasp escaping his chapped lips.  
  
And when a small smile spreads across lightly blushing cheeks as silent tears paint Rogue's cheeks with gold and silver, Sting swore that he had never seen anything more beautiful than the warrior known as Rogue.


	2. You’re Proud, but I’m Getting Nowhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all!
> 
> So, about this story. I've noticed there's a lot of stories, particularly in this fandom, that portray depression totally wrong. Now, it isn't necessarily the author's fault: depression is a hard thing to write and understand when you haven't experienced it yourself. That's part of why I've decided to write this story. I have depression and anxiety myself, and not only is this story a great coping method, it's also a way to show people who may not fully understand mental illness what it's like being in our heads. I also hope to portray how society treats mentally ill people: especially schools. I'm trying to show the signs you can look out for, how to help a mentally ill person, and how sometimes, people truly are oblivious.
> 
> Of course, this means this story is going to be a difficult read at times. The first scene in this chapter could be potentially very triggering, and perhaps there will be more scenes like this, or even more graphic scenes. I'm not going to sugarcoat anything. Things may not have gotten this bad for me, but I've seen it happen to many close to me. Too much media romanticizes mental illness, thinks that a relationship can cure it. News flash: people in relationships may be happier, but nothing can magically cure mental illness. It takes time, a lot of hard work, and potentially medication.
> 
> In summary, I'm trying to portray this as realistic as possible. This is a very extreme case, so not everyone who is mentally ill will act like Rogue does, but I figured after a chapter like the first, Rogue's situation is a difficult one. His actions also add to the common misconceptions that depressed people are just lazy or bad students.
> 
> I am not perfect in any means, there will likely be some inaccuracies or in some spots it'll be a bit dramatic. But that's to be expected, as no author can write something completely and totally flawless, no matter how informed they are.
> 
> Without further ado, Chapter Two of True Beauty. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> WARNING: SELF HARM. SKIP THE FIRST SCENE IF THIS COULD POTENTIALLY TRIGGER YOU.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

A leaky faucet in a bathroom illuminated only by the sliver of moonlight spills icy cold onto pale skin, scratched like fragile porcelain. The clear purity is disrupted by crimson, the heat disrupting the flow of liquid cold, a dance of fire and ice. Only a hiss of recognition and the dripping of water from rusted pipes whispers through the silence of the night, so late that it was early, a cold dark silence that engulfs those inside it with an almost protective embrace.

A pure white sheet descends on stained silver, staining red until the sharp edge shines in the moonlight, reflecting the eyes of its owner, dark as the thick liquid that flows down his skin. The sheet falls into the still water encased in porcelain, only to be taken away in a swirling pattern, sucked out of sight with a single flush.

The deadly sharpness that glimmers with a strangely appealing beauty is hidden away, concealed by a zipper, then shoved behind piles of meaningless things humans insisted on pampering themselves with. Out of sight, out of mind...and yet, his fingers felt empty without it, twitching in the need to retrieve it again, to feel the weight of guilt and release in his palms, to feel it's sharpened edge bring him to actually _know_ pain instead of remembering it.

As he slips out behind the closed door, minding the creaking hinge, the numbness is back, starting at his fingertips and spreading throughout his blood, not hot, not cold, not anything.

As his head hits the sunken, tear stained pillow, his fingers trace the fresh lines that pattern his skin, almost artistic against the paleness of his underarms, a little splash of color to give him _something_ to look at, to remind himself he is still moving, that he can feel the slightest bit of something.

His battle scars. For the first time in the dead of night, the corner of his mouth twitches as if to smile. It did not come, only a single tear, but as he pulls black fabric over the visual pain, he does not feel shame, only exhaustion from today’s fight, the enemy he could not defeat. Tomorrow was a new fight, and he would be ready with words of steel and eyes of resolute determination. Tomorrow...is a new chance for renewal.

* * *

 The day breaks and Sting Eucliffe is awake the moment the sun rises above the horizon, blue eyes wide and body filled with restless energy. He had a reason to dress up today, and a reason to be excited for school, which is a rarity saved for field trips and movie days, which happened maybe twice a semester.

_He had a boyfriend._ It was something hard to believe or process, for their school is 97% straight and all of the gay guys are taken. Not only was he in a relationship now, but it was with _Rogue_. Rogue, whom he’d been crushing on since he’d found out his sexuality, although sometimes it seemed it was even before that. Rogue, who crinkles up his nose when he laughs, whose eyes smile when he scolds you for silly little things, whose laugh could make anyone’s little gay heart melt.

“Sting!” his mother calls from upstairs. “Are you dressed? Normally you’re down by now!”

Sting blinks rapidly and slowly comes to the realization that he’s been dazedly lying on the floor in his boxers daydreaming of Rogue for fifteen minutes. “Fuck whyyyy?!” he whines, cursing his sappy brain and climbing up off the carpet. “Coming Mum!”

He throws on a pink t-shirt, white shorts, his converse, and slides two hair-clips into his hair. By “dress-up” he simply meant wear clothes that showed himself off, like the tightness of this shirt and pants, and then the hair clips for a bit of a cute flare. He skips down the stairs and screeches into the kitchen, taking the wheat toast with butter and cinnamon sugar from his mother’s hands. “Thanks Mum!” he beams.

She chuckles happily as he devours it down, moving to move her husband’s dishes into the sink. “You’re awfully cheerful today.” She smiles at the hairclips, adding, “And you’re dressed all cute… Hmm…” She puts on a fake pondering expression. “Could it be that my little boy is trying to...impress someone?”

“Oho, no need, my dear mother,” Sting grins, setting his plate into the sink. “Already impressed ‘im.”

She laughs, ruffling his hair, to which he loudly protests. “I should've known. I knew you could do it. You two have been so close for so long it was only a matter of time…”

“Yeah, well, I really-wait, how did you know it was Rogue?”

Mrs. Eucliffe laughs joyously. “I just said anyone could’ve seen it coming, didn't I?”

“True,” Sting shrugs, checking the clock on the oven. “Time for me to head out. I hope I can catch Rogue so he doesn’t have to walk alone.”

“You do that, sweetheart,” his mother smiles warmly. “Your father wanted me to tell you to have a good day today and good luck on your test!”

Sting freezes, eyes widening. “Test? Oh _shit_.” He bolts out of the house as fast as he can, trying not to show his desperation. His feet hit the sidewalk as he moves in the direction of the High School. He sees a familiar figure slightly up the street from him, shoulders hunched in that same gray sweatshirt as always.

Sting runs up behind him, throwing an arm around him and placing a big, sloppy kiss on his cheek. “Rogue~!” he says cheerfully.

Rogue turns his head sharply, looking over at Sting with wide eyes. “O-Oh, hi.” He blushes shyly, eyes downcast out of embarrassment.

“Hi beautiful,” Sting flirts, kissing Rogue’s cheek again and watching the red flood his cheeks. “How are you this morning?”

“Not good…” Rogue mumbles, and Sting’s face falls. “This is kinda cheesy but...it's better now that you're here with me.”

“I love cheesy,” Sting smiles, brushing Rogue’s hair from his eyes. “I am the _definition_ of cheesy, after all.”

“You're the definition of _dork_ is what you are,” Rogue replies softly, and Sting giggles in response. They were nearing the campus now, and Sting takes Rogue’s hand in his and swings their joined fingers.

A rough voice suddenly sounds in their ears as a group of three other teenagers approaches them. “Hey there, Cheney,” one of them sneers.

Rogue freezes up beside Sting, hands shaking slightly. Sting instantly senses trouble. His eyes narrow as he shoots the trio his scariest glare, jaw set and face turned in a fierce scowl.

The boy gulps. “Wh-Whoa, not trying to start something or anything...just sayin’ hi to a classmate.” The three of them quickly rush off, leaving the couple alone on the sidewalk.

Rogue turns to look at Sting in amazement. “How did you do that…?”

“My scariest glare,” Sting throws an arm around Rogue’s shoulder and continues to walk with him towards the front of the school. “But it also was a little bit of the secret art of ‘Touch My Boyfriend and I’ll Fuck You Up’, which emits a magical aura of fear-”

“Shut up!” Rogue laughs, elbowing Sting in the ribs. Sting’s heart flutters, because like always, Rogue looked beautiful blushing and laughing. There is relief on his features not there before, the pressure those three boys put upon him lifted from his burdened shoulders.

Sting smiles softly, “Don’t you worry, Rogue. I’ve got you.” He squeezes Rogue’s hand tightly. “No matter what happens, I’ve got your back.”

Rogue smiles thinly, “You sure you want to have that job…?” He looks down at his feet, shoes shuffling against the pavement. “You’ve basically just signed yourself up for a world of hurt.”

“I know,” Sting says boldly, staring straight forward. The clear morning sky felt refreshing both on his lungs and his eyes. “I’m prepared to do pretty much anything to get you smiling like that again. I miss it. You look beautiful.”

Rogue flushes again, “Would you stop? We just started dating and you’re already pouring it on like it’s been a year.”

Sting shrugs, “I mean...it almost has been many.”

“Oh, shut up.” Rogue bares the hint of a smile. “You were too cowardly to say anything.”

As they approach the school together, Sting can feel eyes on them, as well as whispers. Instead of shying away, Sting simply stands taller and prouder as if to say: _hell yeah, that’s my boyfriend. I bet you’re jealous_.

“I’ll walk you to your first class, okay?” Sting pecks Rogue’s cheek softly, then squeezes his hand.

“Are you showing off right now?” Rogue asks, raising an eyebrow. “I know you can see the people staring.”

“Sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” Sting looks genuinely concerned, stopping for a moment to look into his eyes.

Rogue looks away shyly, “You know I don’t like people staring at me…”

“I’m sorry,” Sting mumbles, dropping his hand. “I’m excited, that’s all…”

“I know,” Rogue takes Sting’s hand again. “This is fine...let’s just keep walking…”

Sting smiles and squeezes his hand, then starts walking towards Rogue’s class. Rogue leans on Sting slightly, breathing uneasy, eyes drooping. Sting watches Rogue’s expression, seeing the exhaustion written all over his face, both physical and emotional. It must’ve been another bad night… Sting bites his lip, feeling awful and wishing he could’ve helped. _I should ask to stay the night again soon...hold him all night so he feels safe…_

The bell rings loudly, snapping the couple out of their daze. Sting awkwardly turns to Rogue, “Well uh...yeah. I’ll seeya later...bye…”

To Sting’s surprise, Rogue takes the riskier move. “I love you.”

Sting blushes brightly, ducking his head slightly, “I love you too, Rogue…” His hand hesitates, fingers brushing against Rogue’s palm as he slowly pulls away and walks down the hall alone.

* * *

 Rogue sat silently in his desk, pencil tapping against his hand to try and calm his nerves. Usually, he would listen to music to calm himself down, but this teacher was rather strict and didn’t allow it. It caused mild turmoil in him, stuck in a weird limbo of trying to find some inner peace on his own while also longing for the rush of sound to block out the foreboding silence.

Rogue wants to smile, but his mind is too full of anxieties to allow that. But he doesn’t let it win today, not yet, at least. Rogue closes his eyes and remembers Sting’s flustered reaction to those powerful three words: _I love you_. Rogue said them without even a moment’s hesitation, heart certain and strong. Scared of everything else in his life, this was the one thing Rogue would not shy away from.

Sting meant everything to him. Rogue wanted Sting to know that, he wanted him to see how much love his broken heart could hold. It was bursting at the seams where it had been stitched, ripped long ago by people who did not take care to cherish it. But in this case, Rogue didn’t mind. The warmth of love, like thick blood, flowed like power into his veins, like gasoline finally being pumped into an old, worn down machine. Now all they needed was some happiness to oil the rusted gears.

_Easier said than done_ , Rogue thinks to himself, fidgeting with the sleeve of his favorite sweatshirt, trying to conceal any trace of the mess of bandages stuck to his scarred skin.

The class drags on and on, the class working in almost eerie silence on their worksheets, the only sound besides the click of calculators and the scritch scratch of pencils being a soft _tick...tock...tick...tock_. That sound was the only thing keeping Rogue tethered to reality, an echoing sound that resonated in his mind, helping him slow the agitated heartbeat within his chest that would not cease.

His fingers twitched. His eyes were unfocused and empty. His breathing was uneven and shallow. He wanted his music. He needed his music. He needed an escape.

A loud gasp escapes his lips at the sound of someone dropping a pencil, breaking the silence. Rogue sits bolt upright in his seat, loudly dropping his own pencil against the desk. It felt like all eyes were on him when he stood up, legs weak and unable to support his weight, hands and fingers twitching and shaking, eyes darting everywhere, trying to avoid looking at anyone’s face. _I have to get out of here._ _I have to get out of here_ ** _now_** _._

Mrs. Johanson frowns, standing up and peering over the rim of her glasses. “Is there a problem, Mr. Cheney?”

Something she said made it worse. Rogue wasn’t sure if it was the words, the tone of voice, or the fact she was drawing more and more attention to him, the silence breaking down into pieces, with him the sole source of the chaos.

Rogue tries to speak, tries to stammer out an excuse concerning the bathroom or feeling sick. But the only sound that comes out is a strangled half-sob, and before he knows what is happening, his fingers are hooking around his backpack, and he bolts out the door.

“MR. CHENEY! GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!”

Rogue knows he should’ve left his backpack: now she’d think he was just skipping class for a joyride. But he needed his music...he was not going to leave it behind. Still running, Rogue’s left hand scrambles around in his backpack until his fingers coil around the tangled mess of black wires, fishing out his earbuds from the mess of paper and old wrappers. Dragged out with them, his phone nearly drops to the trash-littered cement below.

Mrs. Johnason stopped chasing him. Rogue would be relieved, but he knows this school too well to be fooled by that. She called the hall patrol, perhaps the on-campus police officer. This wouldn’t be the first time. He had been suspected of drugs once before, because of his weird, spastic freakouts and spacy behavior. But they had found nothing but piles and piles of crumpled pieces of paper, covered in frantic handwriting grouped into incoherent scribbles. Look all they like, but they would never find the source of Rogue’s supposed insanity.

The chaos is all in his head, after all.

Rogue finds himself outside of the art classrooms, one of the quietest, most isolated places in the entire school. There was an old supply shed out of use now, supposed to be locked tight with a coded lock impossible to crack. But desperation had overtaken Rogue one day, and he’d fumbled with the lock until he found the code just by chance. It was one of the few miracles that kept him alive.

Quickly inputting the code now imbedded in his mind, _7246_ , he pushes open the old, creaky door, and steps inside. The shed looks the same as always: dark with only a single stream of light flowing through the small window near the roof. Cans of old paint, tubs of broken crayons, buckets of painted rocks and cracked busts...the room provides a surprising amount of comfort.

Jamming the earbuds into his ears and turning on his headspace playlist, he sits down amongst the pencil shavings and paint chips and closes his eyes, back hitting the old wooden wall behind him. He didn’t care how long he was here now, didn’t care if they called home to report his absence, didn’t care if people panicked and called the police. They would never find him here, he was sure of it. He was simply a shadow on the wall, melting into the darkness effortlessly. They thought this shed hadn’t been opened in years, and it was their ignorance, that for once, kept him safe.

Rogue breathes in slowly, smelling wood and old paint. He finds it soothing, in a way, to know that creativity used to be born here, amongst the wood shavings and dim sunlight.

Rogue feels a bit of sweat on his brow, the warm, stuffy surroundings catching up with him. Nervously he removes the sweatshirt he always wore, trembling slightly at the sight of the revealed bandages plastered to his underarms. Biting his lip, he reminds himself he is alone here, alone and safe from judgemental, preying eyes.

Usually, Rogue sets an alarm so that he could go to his next class, but today is not one of those days. Instead, he shuts his eyes and lets himself slip into a meditative state, trying to think of nothing as music washes over him and drowns out all of the shit in his mind.

* * *

 Sting hears whispers and rumors bouncing from mouth to mouth all throughout the hallways. Something about it felt wrong, far too familiar. Normally, Sting only butts into gossip if it was something that interested him (which was not very often: in his point of view, the lives of teenage girls are boring as hell) but there was something about this that felt important.

“Yeah, apparently he just jumped out of his seat, grabbed his backpack, and bolted,” a girl with pink lipstick on smirking lips says to her friend.

“Maybe he really is on drugs,” laughs the friend, rolling her brown eyes. “I mean, I know the school searched him and found nothing, but maybe he does ‘em before he gets to school, then sneaks out at lunch to a dealer somewhere down the street.”

The usual drug rumors did not spike Sting’s interest. He turns away, about to head towards his locker, when a single word stops him in his tracks.

“Yeah, what an _emo_ _freak_.”

Sting whirls around immediately, mind flashing back to the night before. “- _the bullies pull me behind the school and call me a faggot and beat me for being the worthless trashy gay emo piece of shit that I am-!”_

Sting immediately gets in their faces, preparing to intimidate and defend, “Who are you talking about?!”

One of the girls yelps and jumps back, but the one with pink lipstick smiles flirtatiously at him. Sting controls the urge to roll his eyes. _Great, another girl fishing for what she knows isn’t there._

“Who? Oh, just that weirdass guy in my first period who’s probably on drugs.”

Sting grits his teeth, his hands curling into fists at his side. _This girl is pushing all my buttons..._ “What’s his _name_?”

“Rogue Cheney,” she replied easily. “I thought you’d know that by now, considering half the school’s in a bu-”

Sting growls and grabs the front of her shirt, “Shut the fuck up! Rogue’s not on fucking drugs, okay?! I know this for a fact! Ever consider that your words are what’s causing all this shit?”

She snorts loudly, not looking intimidated in the slightest. “Oh Sting, baby, let me guess.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” Sting growls, eyes narrowing even more.

“You’re gay for him, aren’t you?” she laughs, acting like this is some sick joke, like she’s trying to insult him. “You could do so much better than trash like th-”

Sting can’t help himself, losing it immediately and punching her straight on the jaw. “MAYBE I FUCKING AM! SO SHUT IT!”

Multiple people scream, stepping back from the scene with wide eyes. A few others whip out their cellphones and start recording. The girl Sting hits falls to the ground, blood streaming out of her split lip, eyes wide in rage.

“YOU BASTARD!” she screams, getting to her feet, trying to wipe the blood off of her face. She springs at him, trying to use her nails to scrape up his face, but he grabs her by the wrist and shoves her back to the ground.

“Don’t you DARE touch me!” Sting shouts, trying to stop the tears from falling. _No one fucking understands...all of these people...they’re just making it worse._ Addressing the crowd, he shouts, “If any of you wanna end up just like her, go ahead, keep talking shit!”

Eyes widen all around the hallway, holding their phones up and continuing to get it all on record. Sting hears shouting and the sound of teachers and hall monitors running towards the scene.

After that, everything is a blur. Dragged to the principal’s office, they sit Sting in a chair in front of the principal’s desk and leave him there. Sting looks down at the dried blood on his fist, cursing his own lack of impulse control. He used to get in trouble all the time before high school for fighting, and he’d been doing so much better since he arrived here. But that bitch’s words had brought him back, and he’d been unable to help himself from shutting her up like many others before her.

Principal Poher peers over his desk at Sting, sighing softly. “Sting Eucliffe...I thought you’d fixed this.”

“So had I,” Sting says softly. He looks up at the principal straight in the eyes. “But I don’t regret it, Sir.”

Poher groans. “Sting, you need to learn that punching people is not the way to solve problems.”

“They did the one thing I can never accept...” Sting does not break eye contact. “Anyone who hurts Rogue deserves it.”

Sting watches as the principal sighs again heavily, leaning back in his chair and looking highly disappointed. “Rogue breaks a lot of school rules as well, Sting. I’m not surprised the school’s talking about him.”

“They bully him,” Sting grits his teeth, “they bully him like we’re back in middle school! It’s immature, rude, and if they would shut their damn mouths then maybe Rogue could actually handle being in class!”

Poher’s expression darkens. “Sting. That is Rogue’s business, not yours. If he’s having a problem, he needs to come talk to us himself.”

“Am I not allowed to defend my best friend? My _boyfriend_ ?!” Sting snaps back, anger rising in his chest. “All the anti-bullying stuff around this school says to not be a bystander, to stick up for those in trouble! But once I do that, _I_ get in trouble, and nothing changes!”

“What we mean by that is to come tell an authority.” The principal starts filling out a form, not looking at Sting, having given up.

“You just said he has to come tell you himself!” Sting shouts, standing up and shaking angrily.

“Sit down, Sting!” Poher commands, and Sting falls back into his seat with venom in his eyes. Clutching the seat’s armrests with both hands, Sting tries to contain his anger and stop the shaking. “Sting, please listen to me.” Poher’s eyes are fixed upon the boy’s face, and Sting refuses to break eye contact, not backing down. “If someone was bullying Rogue to his face, if someone was physically hurting him, and you came to me with names and evidence, we would put a stop to it. Rogue has not been seen since his little stunt this morning-”

“Wait, what?!” Sting cries, sitting up straighter in the chair. “Rogue’s _missing_?!”

The principal groans softly, “I shouldn’t have said that. But yes, Rogue is currently missing.”

Sting jumps out of his chair and heads for the door, “I’ve got to find him, he could be in trouble-!” Sting grabs the door and tries to open it, only to realize it’s locked. “Dammit!”

“Sting.” Poher’s voice is surprisingly calm. “You cannot go around punching people anymore, unless it is self-defense. If someone is bullying Rogue, have him come to me. It’s just difficult to take your side of the story as pure fact when you are this riled up and Rogue is missing, breaking school rules. If you both come in later this week, I will have a talk with you.”

Sting hangs his head, shaking violently. “P-Please let me go look for Rogue...likely, he doesn’t want to be found...a-and when he doesn’t want to be found, n-no one’s gonna be able to find him but me...I-I’m the only person he trusts...please…”

Poher sighs softly. “I’m sorry, Sting.” He pushes the form out in front of him. “I’m afraid we have to suspend you for two days for fighting. Stay here, and I’ll call your mom.”

“N-No!” Sting tugs on the door again. “Y-You have to let me out, R-Rogue could be in danger-”

“We have people looking for him now,” the principal says slowly. “I’m calling your mother, Sting. Please sit down and stay as calm as you can. Rogue is going to be alright.”

Sting sinks back into the chair, holding back angry tears. _Suspended? Rogue’s going to be alone at school for two days… That is, unless he gets suspended too…_

“C-Can I text him…?” Sting whispers, but Poher has already picked up the phone to call Sting’s mother. Biting down on his lip hard, Sting sinks into himself and picks at the dried blood caked onto his fist. Why do all of his attempts to help just make everything worse? Rogue was in a bad place, he couldn’t come to the office himself, he couldn’t tell anyone about the pain he had, about the struggle going on inside his mind. They were basically asking Rogue to do the impossible. People this far gone would never show it, never admit it. They would only hide it inside, hide it until someone they trusted pushed just a bit, and then they’d break into pieces in their hands.

Drowning out the world, Sting buries his face into his hands and tries not to cry. _I’m sorry, Rogue..._


End file.
